


Until the Midnight Bell Tolls

by phiremangston



Category: Jekyll (2007)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-17
Updated: 2010-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phiremangston/pseuds/phiremangston
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Jackman never wanted him to remember this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until the Midnight Bell Tolls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Francesca](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Francesca).



> Many thanks to Sarah VB for doing the quick'n'dirty beta at our hostel, and to everyone who tried to help with inspiration. :)

"Hand me the eggs, dear, would you?" Mummy gestured vaguely in the direction of the fridge, and a five-year-old Tom opened the door, carefully reaching for the highest shelf. "Use the stool, for God's sake!" Tom hesitated, staring at his mother. Her voice softened. "I don't want you to fall and get hurt."

She smiled and nodded reassuringly at him. Tom pulled down the egg carton, moving as slowly as he could so as not to drop it. Just as he stepped down onto the floor again a single egg slipped from the carton and made a horrible mess.

Tom held his breath. He tried, he tried so hard to be a good boy. He didn't want her to make him hurt again. He loved his mummy so much, but it scared him to see her mad.

Seconds passed, and Mrs. Jackman stared.

Minutes went by while Mrs. Jackman stared.

It seemed like it had been hours, though in reality it had only been five minutes, and finally Mrs. Jackman's face changed.

Tom instinctively drew back as she approached. Head lowered, arms crossed protectively over his chest, he risked a look up.

But she was Mummy again, and she had love in her eyes. Tom didn't trust her, not yet, not until he knew for certain. She drew him into a hug and he tensed, half-expecting his ribs to start hurting something dreadful.

But this was soft. Comforting. Loving.

Tom relaxed and hugged her back tightly, trying not to cry. Big boys didn't cry, and it would only make Mummy upset.

Tom tried to make her happy, but it was so hard.

\-----------------

Eight candles flickered out as laughter and clapping filled the room. Tom grinned broadly and cut the first piece of cake, passing it to his best friend, Henry.

"Happy birthday, Tom." Henry clapped him on the back and dug in, glancing back at Tom every few seconds.

"What is it?"

There was a short pause in which Tom felt the sudden urge to grab the camera; Henry's fork was halfway to his mouth, and bits of cake were falling off into his lap. There was a line of frosting along his upper lip.

Henry cleared his throat.

"Did you hide that under the table or something? I never saw you leave the room."

"What are you talking about?"

"The beard."

"Don't be a twat, how could I have a..." Tom stopped as he unconsciously touched his chin and found something that wasn't supposed to be there. His brow furrowed in confusion. "I'll be right back."

Tom hurried from the table, a room full of befuddled guests left in his wake.

\-----------------

Mum was sitting in her favorite chair by the hearth, a photo album spread before her on the coffee table. But she wasn't looking at it; couldn't, probably. The lights were all off and the only light was coming from the fire, which wasn't really enough to read by. The Christmas tree stood dark and half-decorated in the corner, away from the window. Mum never wanted anyone to see it through the glass. Tom didn't know why, but after years of making the wrong decision, he knew better than to question her about it.

Tom stood in the doorway, watching. Just watching her. He usually didn't get to see her like this, unguarded, completely alone.

The nurse had left the week before. Nobody told Tom why, but when he looked out the front window as she was leaving, she looked scared.

Tom didn't blame her. He was scared sometimes too. But he couldn't leave even if he wanted to. Besides, he loved his mum.

Mrs. Jackman shook her head sharply all of a sudden, and Tom tried not to jump. She looked like she was talking to someone, but there wasn't a phone in the sitting room, so she couldn't be doing that. And he didn't hear anyone else in the room. Maybe she was talking to herself? But she always told him off for talking to himself; she said other people would think he was crazy if he did that. So he never did, just to make her happy.

But now she was doing it.

Or looked like she was.

Her hand was clutching the arm of the chair, knuckles turning white. It looked painful. Tom heard a small gasp and almost rushed forward to help her, but he managed to restrain himself. That was probably for the better, because now she was laughing, but it wasn't her usual light tinkling giggle. This was darker, a low cackle from deep in her throat.

Tom took a step back. One of the floorboards creaked.

She'd told him to fix that weeks ago.

Mrs. Jackman's head jerked up and spun towards the door.

Tom was already gone, hunching in a corner near the stairs.

He needed a drink. And a good shag.

He shook his head. Where did that come from? He never drank; good twelve-year-old boys never drank.

He wasn't thinking straight. Maybe he just needed some rest. He'd just gotten over a nasty flu, anyway. Blacked out for nearly a week.

Tom took the stairs two at a time, quietly as he could, and locked his door as he turned out the lights and tried to find that pleasant nothingness called sleep.

\--------------------

"Mum, whatever happened to dad?"

"What?"

Mrs. Jackman was combing her hair, pulling the brush through in even, firm strokes. A couple of clumps had come out into the brush already, but she didn't seem to notice. She was staring at him, hard. Tom felt as though his very soul was being penetrated.

"Dad. I mean...I don't remember him at all. Did he...leave, or something?"

She hadn't blinked in a long while. That couldn't be comfortable.

"Your father."

That was all she said. There was a long silence while his mum just looked at him and Tom stood awkwardly by the four-poster bed. He cleared his throat.

"Uh, yeah."

"Your father, Tom...I loved him very much." She smiled softly. Then something flickered in her eyes. "But I was in a lot of pain when I gave birth to you, and when you nearly died he just couldn't take it. He couldn't take it." She glanced at the floorboards then back up at him. Tom thought she probably didn't realize he saw. "He couldn't take it, Tom." Her voice cracked.

Tom nodded and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

\--------------------------

Mrs. Jackman stood by the door in the waiting room, tapping her fingers of her left hand lightly against her lips. She looked up as a doctor in scrubs came through the door. He ran a hand over his head, jaw twitching a bit. He looked uncomfortable.

"We did as you asked, Mrs. Jackman, though I can't say I entirely approve of the procedure."

She nodded, eyes moving from the doctor to the door and back again. Anxiously. "But he doesn't remember anything?"

"The operation was a success. There will be a few minor side effects. Headaches, dizziness, sleeplessness."

"Those won't be a problem."

There was a short pause.

"What do you want me to tell him when he wakes up, Mrs. Jackman?"

"It's all in the paperwork I left with the nurse. Please don't mention me; I'll pop in every once in a while to make sure he's all right, but he's not to know I exist."

"Might I ask...why, exactly, are you doing this?"

Mrs. Jackman smiled, eyes downcast.

"He deserves to be happy. At least, for as long as he can be. He shouldn't have to remember what he's experienced so young. He has too much ahead of him."

At that, Mrs. Jackman shook the bemused doctor's hand and walked briskly out of the hospital into the cold winter's day. It would be light out soon. Perhaps that was symbolic for Tom.

Perhaps not.

It always got dark again.


End file.
